


To the North Country

by RogueBelle



Category: Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy, Scarlet Pimpernel - Wildhorn/Knighton
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Ratings: PG, Romance, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueBelle/pseuds/RogueBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing moment: Percy takes his leave of Marguerite, knowing her secrets though she has not yet learned his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the North Country

The morning air was bright and cool when Percy pushed open the door to his wife’s room. He was praying she was asleep; he could lie easily enough if he had to explain himself verbally, but he knew the entire ordeal would be much quicker, much simpler if he could just leave the letter in his fingers. And so he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Marguerite asleep in a chair by the window. The faintest of smiles touched his lips, to see that his poor wife had not even managed to deposit herself in bed. It made for a darling picture, and yet Percy’s heart was saddened by it. The little woman had surely endured a torturous evening, and he half-wanted to move her, to lift her easily into his arms and tuck her in to bed. Surely, though, he would be unable to accomplish that without waking her.

Part of him _wanted_ to wake her, to tell her everything, the whole history and his plan for Armand’s rescue. But there wasn’t time; such a discussion could take hours, and besides that, she would be safer in ignorance. If anything happened, if Chauvelin tried to force her hand again, she wouldn’t be able to confess what she did not know. He would not put her in danger for all the world, and so she had to remain in England, oblivious and better off for it.

He stepped across the room, his footsteps not making a sound on the floor despite the heavy boots he wore. Percy had long ago learned to walk lightly when necessary, and he was certain he could get in and out without disturbing his wife. His eyes drank in the sight of her as he moved; she was splendid in the morning sun. The light bounced off of the golden threads woven in her dressing gown and danced in the shining ringlets of her hair, giving her a glow that, to Percy’s eyes, was nothing short of divine. A faint breeze ruffled the curtains of her open window, and moved a few wisps of red-gold hair along with the drapings. Marguerite had a shawl clutched about her shoulders, and Percy hoped it was keeping her warm.

 _’Sleep soundly, my precious Margot,’_ he thought, as he placed the folded-up parchment on the table beside her. _’And I hope, by the time you wake, I’ll have fetched your brother, and all will be well.’_

He gazed down upon her for another moment, and was unable to resist the temptation provided by her lovely white brow. Bending, Percy pressed the very lightest of kisses to that smooth skin, lingering just long enough to breathe in the scent of her hair. He closed his eyes, checking against the swell of emotion in his chest that bade him wake her, take her in his arms, and never stop kissing her. After so long, to have to wait another few days before he could confess everything, before he could beg forgiveness for his pride, before he could tell her that he’d never stopped loving her and finally be able to express that love – the wait was almost too much to bear. Percy found one of his hands lifting, to touch her brilliant curls, and had to force it back to his side.

If he had thought tearing himself from her side difficult the previous night, it was nothing to his torture now. But there was a job to do, and with stakes so high, Percy could not risk the slightest delay. And so he turned, shutting his eyes against the grief of it as he did so, and slipped again from the room.

Marguerite awoke when a chilly gust hit her cheek in the wrong way, and she came back to consciousness with a shiver. She had dreamt – but she could not remember what.

As she raised herself from the chair, intending to drag herself to bed, Marguerite noticed the letter sitting at her side. Lifting it and opening it in her dainty fingers, Marguerite read:

 _My lady,_  
Do forgive my haste, but an urgent matter has come to my attention, and I must depart for the North Country immediately. I regret that my business there may require several days’ attention, and that I may not return in time to attend your ladyship’s garden party on Wednesday. I trust you will make the proper excuses on my behalf. I remain, madam,  
Yr most loyal servant,  
Percy Blakeney

Marguerite looked the letter over a second time, and then glanced out the window. _’Called to the North Country, at dawn? How perfectly bizarre...’_

And then, something clicked together. Something about the timing was too neat, too sudden. All the emotional turmoil, all the terrible possibilities that had been crashing about in her mind came together, sparking a new fire, illuminating something greater and more awesome than them all. And for the first time, a thought too impossible entered Marguerite’s mind.

She dropped her shawl and burst out of her room, striding directly for her husband’s study.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please check out [my blog](http://cassmorriswrites.com)! I also write original fiction, and my debut novel will be out January 2018.


End file.
